


Hedonistic

by Naughty Captain Crieff (Loki_Laufeyson)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: For smut this has an awful lot of pretentious adjectives, M/M, Mycroft you filthy bugger, Oral Sex, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Laufeyson/pseuds/Naughty%20Captain%20Crieff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft in the singular pursuit of sensual pleasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hedonistic

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on the kink meme that simply said "cock worship".
> 
> (Also the first few paragraphs are supposed to be tongue in cheek rather than, you know, sexy)

Most people only see appeal in the girth and length of the things. For what other satisfaction is there to be found in the male genitalia? 

As a hedonist, eternally in pursuit of only the most sensual of pleasures, Mycroft Holmes politely disagrees. 

Of course it was a lovely surprise that first night, when he had hooked his thumbs beneath the waistband of Greg’s boxer shorts and pulled down, to find beast below his lover’s belt ( _”Oh my, Gregory, how do you not feel faint every time you’re aroused with all that blood going down?”_ he’d grinned like the Cheshire Cat) but it had never been necessary. 

Oh no. There is so much more to it than that.

It’s in the scent that lingers thick in his nostrils - rich and heady in a way that sings sex and masculinity - as he drags his jaw up the crease of Greg’s thigh, mouth working over hypersensitive skin. 

It’s in the sight of the straining member, veins pulsing blue just beneath the surface and head glistening scarlet in a way that makes a pink tongue dart from Mycroft’s mouth to lick his lips. Delicious. 

It’s in the way Greg’s cock bobs against his stomach with every desperate breath. 

It’s in the sound of his lover’s ragged gasps and in the feel of him trembling in antici-

“Bloody hell, Mycroft.” Greg whimpers from above him, accent thicker on his tongue in his state of agitation and fingers curling in the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles shine white in the dim light, “You’re killing me here. Just- just get on with it, will you?”

“As you wish.” Mycroft smirks, somehow still unbearably conceited even in his current position (he learnt whilst still young and amorous that though the man on his knees may appear at a disadvantage, he is the one that holds the power quite literally in his hands. Or mouth, as it may be). 

Gently, teasingly, Mycroft leans in to place a kiss to the head, smearing his lips with pre- ejaculate but not daring to lick it away; not yet. 

“Magnificent,” he whispers pressing more fleeting kisses along the length, “Absolutely, completely magnificent.”

When he licks a long stripe from base to tip, Greg’s hips buck forward, begging- aching for more.

“Do you know how you look? What you do to me?” Mycroft half-growls, it’s impossible to maintain all of his composure in the face of such temptation, “I could devour you.”

“Please.” Greg returns in a breathless plea that makes Mycroft’s stomach clench in traitorous hunger, “ _Please._ ”

Finally, he grants mercy in the form of swallowing Greg’s throbbing cock whole, burying his nose in silver pubic hair and inhaling deeply. Greg shakes almost violently, around him and within him. 

There is a burn in the back of his throat from the push of Greg’s cock and an impossibly heavy weight sitting on his tongue. His mouth aches with the stretch and his lips will be swollen, lush and red, before the night is through. 

And it is _perfect_. 

It is intoxicating, the pain and the pleasure, Mycroft’s drug of choice. 

Drawing his head back, Mycroft swirls his tongue, sweeps it along the slit and allows himself a coveted taste; it’s bitter and sharp. It tastes like his rapture. 

Above, Greg groans, hands clenching and unclenching, abdomen tensing and hips straining with the effort not to thrust into the glorious heat. His incoherent mutters sound suspiciously like Mycroft’s name. In a rare moment of generosity and less rare moment of indulgent desire, Mycroft runs his hands up Greg’s legs in a wordless sign of permission to let go. To grab Mycroft’s hair and fuck his mouth. 

And Greg does just that. His fingers come to curl around Mycroft’s skull and he thrusts with abandon into the welcoming wet fever of Mycroft’s mouth, hips lifting from the chair at every go. 

There is no gag reflex to fight against but there is still a glorious tension- a persistent pressure as the head of Greg’s cock hits the back of his throat over and over. Tears flow down the planes of Mycroft’s face as he swallows around Greg’s cock and his cries of pleasure are lost as vibrations to the flesh being forced between his lips. 

Over and over and-

There is an uncomfortable strain against the front of Mycroft’s trousers but it only adds to the thrill of the moment so he does not use his hands to relieve himself but rather to cup and rub Greg’s testicles. Fingers occasionally flitting over the perineum just to relish in the decadent shudders Gregory emits at the teasing touch. 

Not too long after, in a crescendo of warbling cries, Gregory comes hard into his lover’s mouth and Mycroft moans, heaving and primal, as release is spilled onto his tongue. 

He swallows desperately. 

Gratefully. 

“Oh, Mycroft.” Greg pants, as Mycroft laps at his spent cock, “You’re just- that was just- Christ. You have to let me make it up to you. This can’t be fair-“

“Hush now dear,” Mycroft murmurs, lazily nuzzling his face into softening flesh, “It was my pleasure.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually the first bit of smut I have ever written. Ever. So be gentle. I think the style is mostly to do with the fact that it is Mycroft's consciousness but it actually might just be the way I write filth. Who knows?


End file.
